






Class 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



1 


The 


e Prodigal 




A STORY OF 
MODERN LIFE 


1 














REV, 

Paper cove 


BY 

CHARLES CAMPBELL 

QUITMAN, GA 

■ 

r, 25 cents; silk cloth binding, 50 cents 

■ 

MONFORT & COMPANY 

Cincinnati, Ohio 

1915 



t'b 






.t^S""-,!* 



Copyrighted, 1915, by 
Charles a. Campbell 




DEC 14 1915 



e)GI.A418039 



THB PRODIGAL. 



FOREWORD. 

"A certain man had two sons, and the younger of 
them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of 
goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them 
his living. And not many days after the younger son 
gathered all together, and took his journey into a far 
country, and there wasted his substance in riotous 
living. And when he had spent all there arose a 
mighty famine in that land ; and he began to be in 
want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen 
of that country ; and he sent him into his fields to feed 
swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with 
the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave 
unto him. And when he came to himself, he said. 
How many hired servants of my father's have bread 
enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger ! I will 
arise and go to my father, and say unto him, Father, 
I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and 
am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as 
one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to 
his father. But when he was yet a great way off his 



THE PRODIGAL. 



father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell 
on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto 
him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy 
sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. 
But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the 
best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his 
hand, and shoes on his feet ; and bring hither the fatted 
calf, and kill it ; and let us eat, and be merry ; for this 
my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost, and 
is found." — Jesus of Nazareth. 



THB PRODIGAL. 



THE PRODIGAL. 



Let us travel together across the sea, 

To the land of heather-clad hills, 
Forgetting, for a while, the familiar scenes, 

We'll gaze upon that which thrills ; 
Together we'll travel a pathway — 

Down, down to the depths we'll go, 
And traveling thus, ere break of day, 

Shall arrive at Inferno! 

We'll gaze upon wrecks of manhood. 

Upon women with tainted mind — ' 
By the greed and lust of men transformed 

To she wolves who devour their kind ; 
We'll hear the voice of revelry 

Ringing loud amid the slime — 
The slime of the "Pit" where living men 

Are damned before their time! 

With Dante you may have journeyed 
Into the realm of souls that are lost; 

A shadowy land, where the poet finds 
The men whom he hated most; 



THE PRODIGAL, 



But we wander not amid shadows 

In the journey we go to-night — 
Not the dead, but the Hving, await us; 

Not demons, but men, greet our sight. 

Men who have sinned, and, sinning, 

Have drunk the cup of woe ; 
The inevitable cup, which all must drink 

Who the prodigal's pathway go. 
Men, between Scylla and Chary bdis, 
Born without a chance — 
Crushed in the grip of an iron hand, 

Fruits of the wine cup and dance. 

Perhaps, in some other world, the men 

Who were damned from their birth in this, 
Will, in some way, be given a chance to win 

Both the shoes, the ring and the kiss — ' 
The kiss of the father who welcomed 

The lad who had gone astray; 
The lad who had every chance to make good, 

And who flung his life away. 

For surely every man shall receive 
A square deal at the hands of God, 

Since the Judge of all the earth must do right, 
Whatever our creed or our code — 



THE PRODIGAL. 



The slum, the Pit, the heathen land — • 
Great Babylon with its greed and crime, 

For environment does not condition the love 
Which is limitless, deathless, sublime! 

Pass we then to follow 

The steps of a prodigal lad. 
Who, like him of the olden times. 

Had everything to make life glad. 
From the halls of fashion, to the depths of the "Pit,*' 

From home to the far-off land. 
We'll follow the prodigal's tortured path, 

And, perchance, lend a helping hand. 



THE PRODIGAL. 



PART I. THE HOME. 



The scene that awaits the unfolding 

Begins in a home that is blest 
Far beyond many others 

With the things that men count best. 
The father had fought many a conflict 

In the arena of business and chance, 
And from the conflict returned victorious, 

With rich spoils in both lands and finance. 

He was proud, and, following the fashion, 
He planned with a lavish hand 
A home for himself and family, 
Second to none, I ween, in the land. 

Two sons had the good God given him, 
And his wife was still by his side; 

No sorrow had clouded his sunshine. 
No spear thrust had wounded his pride. 

The future was bright with promise, 
And beckoned him along with a smile; 

No thought of trouble wrinkled his brow, 
He was happy, at least for a while! 



THE PRODIGAL. 



At peace with God and the world, 

Contented with fortune and home, 
He had laid his mantle on the elder son — 

The younger was in college at "Strathbone." 

The mother, ah me, she was proud — 

Proud of her station in life. 
Proud of the fate that had led her 

To become her husband's wife, 
Proud of the sons she had borne him, 

The younger — to her — more dear, 
The lad who was now at college, 

Ah me, she had reason to fear. 

Reason to fear the future. 

But then, how could she know 
That a cruel hand was already clenched 

To strike her a terrible blow! 
A blow that would humble her pride in the dust, 

And rob her life of its joy; 
Making home for her a desolate place 

Because of her absent boy. 



10 THB PRODIGAL. 



THE ELDER BROTHER. 

The elder brother was the father's pride, 
His chosen successor, trained at his side. 
A proper young man, correct as a die. 
But, of sympathy, I fear that his heart was dryl 
Calm was the blood that flowed in his veins, 
To drive hard bargains he took great pains ; 
Unemotional, stoical, hard as flint in a deal. 
But honest, oh, yes — and as sharp as steel. 

Trained in an atmosphere of dollars and cents, 
Stocks and bonds, mortgages and rents. 
His soul dried up, and whatever the stress, 
"Shylock" demanded his pound of flesh! 
Materialism, from manhood, its price demands, 
And collects it at last with ruthless hands ; 
For the favor of "Mammon" the price you must pay, 
And your soul on the altar of the grim god lay. 

Red war its legions in death hath laid, 

Each land its tribute to the war god hath paid; 

But the god of greed is more insatiate far 

Than the god whose hot breath kills his victims in war, 



THB PRODIGAL. ii 



For, to the wounded in battle mercy is given, 
And peace makes comrades of men who have striven ; 
But in the strife for gold no mercy is shown — 
The wounded are killed — nor are the dead let alone 1 

"Push competition to the wall, stamp it out with iron 

heel — 
Smite opposition in the dust, with mailed fist or steel ; 
Control the price of foodstuff, then send it shooting 

high— 
To hell with the widow and orphan ; if they can't pay 

the price — Let them die!" 



Such was the method of trade that marred 

The man whom God had made; 
The elder son of the father, who had succeeded 

To his business and trade. 
Do not blame the man, but the system ; 

He was but a cog in its wheel; 
He had entered the race and must go the pace 

Or himself the mailed fist would feel! 



12 THB PRODIGAL. 



THE YOUNGER SON. 

The younger son — the mother's boy — 

He was made of different clay ; 
Soft and easy, a jolly good fellow, 

Merry, light-hearted and gay; 
Popular in class room and campus, 

An all-around man in the field, 
When rival teams met on "the diamond" 

The victory to win — or to yield. 

The father had made with this boy the mistake 

Of supplying him too liberally with cash; 
And senior year in college found him 

Cutting quite a dash ! 
With friends in plenty, and money to burn. 

Wine suppers and cards were the thing; 
He was having a good time, and fashioning a whip — 

A whip with a scorpion's sting! 

He would feel its lash in the future, 

As he sowed so would he reap; 
'Tis a law unchanged, unchanging. 

However bitter the tears we may weep. 



THE PRODIGAL. 13 



Sowing wild oats is a foolish game, 
Yet a game where the issue is great; 

For the seed that we sow in the springtime of life 
Determines our manhood's fate. 

We are building a heaven or digging a hell, 

Fashioning a crown or a chain ; 
Storing up in our lives the sources of joy, 

Or the sources of grief and pain. 
Not a word is uttered, not a deed is done. 

Not a thought ever touches the brain, 
But advances the work we are doing each day — 

Fashioning a crown or a chain! 

All the college knew of the young man's doings, 

But, to save his father's good name, 
He was allowed to finish his college career 

Without the stigma of shame. 
Far better, I ween, had the father 

Been told in language plain — 
For, perhaps, the knowledge in season 

Might have saved him greater pain. 

Home from college the young man came, 

But, he came not with delight; 
The lure of the City was in his blood, 

He thought of it day and night. 



14 THB PRODIGAL. 



He lusted for the flesh pots of Egypt — 
For the taste of forbidden things; 

The seed he had sown had their fruitage begun- 
The lash was bristling with stings. 



Between the brothers twain 

No love was lost, I ween; 
The elder held the younger 

In but light esteem. 
Perhaps the man of business, 

Calm and cold and still. 
Had noted the brother's flabby cheek, 

And weak, irresolute will. 

Be that as it may, a gulf between 

The brothers grew apace; 
Nothing had they in common, 

They seemed men of a different race. 
In the veins of the one ran ice-cold blood, 

In the veins of the other, fire — 
The fire of passion which lured him on 

To the slime, the filth, the mire. 



Time hung heavy on the young man's hands, 
There was nothing much to do, 

And as summer passed to winter 
More restless still he grew. 



THB PRODIGAL. 15 



He was weary of home, and home's restraint; 

Weary of the long, quiet days; 
And every drop of his blood sried out 

For the city, with its gay, godless ways. 

Unknown to the parents, the young man had drunk 

Already of that cup of life — 
The cup forbidden — the cup that has filled 

The world with misery and strife. 
Cards and wine, the scarlet woman 

No strangers to the young man were — 
He had been behind the scenes — ' and had lost 

Both character and manhood there! 

But this, to the father and mother unknown, 

They noted his restless mood, 
And in counsel they agreed together 

On a plan they thought for his good. 
He had now crossed the rim of manhood, 

And the world with its sights he should see ; 
So he fared him forth from the land of the north 

To the city and the life of the free! 



i6 THB PRODIGAL. 



BABYLON. 
Pass we to Babylon — the mighty city — 

By the river side it stands, 
The gathering place of the nations, 

The marvel of all lands. 
Here history played her bloody game — 

A game oft lost and won — 
Here the life of to-day rushes on with a roar, 

Indifferent to daylight or sun. 

Babylon ! the mother of nations, 

Aye ! and of harlots, too ; 
The heaven of many a man — 

And the hell of not a few. 
Babylon the mighty, whose lifted head 

With age is hoary and gray — 
Babylon! 'Tis the rich man's heaven, 

And the poor man's hell to-day! 

If you doubt the word thus spoken, 

Try it, and convinced you will be; 
From the West to the East go down to the "Pit," 

And the lost in their torment you'll see — 
Poverty, rags, lust, crime — hell upon earth all the time ; 

Pass into the show 1 Pass in, pass in and see — 
Great God ! What a place ! What a life ! What a fatel 

For men created in likeness to Thee! 



THE PRODIGAL. 17 



Into the revel of Babylon's gay life 

The Prodigal found his way ; 
The "call of the wild" rang in his ears 

And his hot blood leaped to obey. 
Women and wine, cards and play — 

The dance with its poisoned breath — 
All combined to hasten him down 

The broad, luring pathway of death. 

This way is thronged by a multitude 

Who claim "The Elite" to be — 
The elite, forsooth, of the kingdom of sin, 

Who have not the sense to see 
That they willingly follow a leader 

In cunning without a peer, 
And, too late, shall read in letters of fire: 

"Hope abandon who enter here!" 

Down to the depths, step by step, went the lad 

Whose footsteps we follow to-day; 
From the gilded palace of high-priced sin 

To the brothel he found his way. 
Helped on by his friends who showed him the sights, 

He, headlong, went to his doom — 
From the gilded palace and scarlet house 

He passed on to the low saloon! 

a 



i8 THB PRODIGAL. 



The morning's dawn oft found him 

Staggering along to his bed, 
His clothes looking seedy, his hair unkempt, 

Dirty from foot to head. 
Ah, me! If the home folks could see him 

As from some drunken revel he came, 
They would cry unto God in agony — 

They would hide their proud heads in shame. 

And yet, much of it was their doing — 

They had spoiled the lad while at home. 
His every wish had been humored, 

And he was lacking in stiff backbone. 
They had given him money to squander, 

And of work he had none to do ; 
He was spending their money in a riotous life 

Like other men's sons whom he knew. 

THE CLUB. 
Now, come, let us visit together 

A Club in Babylon's West End, 
The midnight hour already has passed 

As thither our steps we wend. 
It's early yet for the revel — 

The fun will reach its height 
When a little more time has been given 

To worshiping the black god of night. 



THE PRODIGAL. 19 

>\ ^ ;i J li^ii , 

Now gaze at the building yonder — ■ 

Who would think that behind its walls 
Are the self-called elite of Babylon, 

Throwing dice and drinking "high-balls" ! 
Upstairs, the wheels are whirling, 

The rattle of "chips" you will hear — 
The stakes are down, the game is on — 

'Tis thus every night of the year. 

Private rooms are there if you want one, 

Pay the price, and no questions are asked, 
And whatever the game, or whatever your name — 

All is in secrecy masked. 
Let us enter and see what is doing, 

The porter will open the door — ' 
We'll whisper in his ear a greeting, 

And he'll think we've been there before. 

Splendor greets us on every hand 

As we cross the threshold o'er. 
Our feet sink down into velvet — 

Not a sound can pass the door! 
We follow the guide who meets us — 

A youth from India's far land — 
And, following, we reach the upper floor 

Where statues in marble stand. 



20 THB PRODIGAL. 



To the roulette room we follow our guide, 

The Prodigal we seek is not there, 
But many another young man we find, 

And many a man with gray hair. 
Not a word is spoken, the silence alone 
Is broken by the whirr of the wheel, 
The rattle of chips, the clink of coin. 
And sighs that cut like steel. 

We note a fair and stalwart young man, 

His pale face drawn and set. 
The look of the hunted in his eyes — 

He has but one more coin to bet; 
The coin is tossed on the lap of chance — 

He has lost — God pity his wife ! 
For, leaving the gilded palace of sin, 

He to the river ^od flung .his life! 

At the altar of Christ, just a year ago. 

That young man stood with a maid, 
And to her he plighted his sacred troth. 

Ere the uniting words were said ; 
She is waiting now for his coming, 

Her babe but a few weeks old — 
God pity her — the innocent victim 

Of man's fierce lust for gold ! 



THB PRODIGAL. 21 



But, in a moment, the silence is pierced 

By the crack of a pistol, clear, 
And all alike rush from the room, 

Some in wonder and some in fear. 
We follow the crowd to the higher floor; 

Loud voices sound in our ear; 
They come from the private rooms of the house- 

The rooms of high play — in the rear. 

As we hurry on up there passes our side, 

His face as white as a sheet. 
The Prodigal whom we are following; 

He is passing down stairs to the street. 
We shall find him again when we want him, 

Just now we'll pass on to see 
What scene awaits our beholding — 

It may startle, methinks, you and me! 

"Dead !" That is the word which greets us 

As we draw near to the door. 
And gaze on the ghastly figure 

Lying, drenched in blood, on the floor! 
"Dead !" Shot to death by the Prodigal 

In a quarrel over the game ; 
Ah, surely 'tis well that the Prodigal 

Has been called by no other name. 



22 THB PRODIGAL. 



The story of the tragedy, in brief, was this, 

As told by a man standing near; 
He had been one of the players 

In that game that had cost so dear: 
"The Prodigal's loss had been heavy, 

A word about cheating was said. 
The lie was passed, and, with his life, 

The speaker for that word had paid!" 

The broken bottles, the wine-stained cloth, 

The blood-shot eyes of the men — 
These told their own tale of the tragic scene 

It has happened again and again, 
And yet again, 'ere the night rolls round, 

The scene re-enacted will be 
In the palaces of Babylon — the city of sin — 

Where the river rolls on to the sea. 

But. come, let us leave this house of death 

Ere the hand of the law takes hold; 
No longer need for us to remain 

In this palace of lust and gold. 
Let us follow the flight of the Prodigal — 

The lad whose hands are now red — 
Red with the blood of manhood, 

The blood of the man who is dead ! 



THB PRODIGAL. 23 



No need to look for the Prodigal 

In the midst of his usual haunts. 
To find him we must think of that 

Which a hunted man most wants: 
To hide from the eyes of his fellows 

Who know him by sight or name. 
Thus, the place to look will be amongst those 

Who care not from whence he came. 

We must seek him, then, in the jungle — 

The jungle, not of beasts, but of men. 
Where human beasts prowl nightly forth 

From their lairs to harry men. 
We look not for a man of fashion — 

Please bear that fact in mind — 
But a man with human blood on his hands, 

Who would hide from all mankind. 

THE PIT. 
Down, then, into the pit of horrors, 

Let us follow the man we seek; 
:But we must lay aside our goodly raiment 

If our lives we want to keep. 
Dirt and rags are the passport; 

Crime the key that unlocks the door ; 
We must play the part, and if only in art, 

Be thugs to the very core! 



24 THE PRODIGAL. 



In garments both airy and dirty. 

With faces and hands begrimed, 
With hair unkempt, and shoulders bent, 

Good manners and speech left behind, 
Let us slouch along like the "bums" we are — 

Slinking from the eye of "the cop" ; 
We'll go down to the hell of living men. 

Leaving God and religion on top! 

Slouching along, as the dawn draws near 

We enter a saloon called "The Rest" — 
The name is inviting, and, passing in. 

We call for the landlord's "best" — 
Not to drink — nay, God forbid — 

But to act the part assumed. 
We seek the Prodigal, and "The Rest" was a place 

Where many criminals roomed. 

The landlord glares with ratty eyes, 

His scrutiny long and keen ; 
It is needful for him, in the game he plays, 

To be wary of strangers first seen. 
His scrutiny we bear with patience. 

And fling out mouthfuls of slang, 
And, after a while, he unlimbers his tongue; 

For he judges we are part of "the gang." 



THB PRODIGAL. 25 



The gang of criminals he shelters there 

For part of their stolen gains; 
Many a man in "The Rest" that night 

Should have been in prison chains; 
But, the same is true of the West End, too — 

It's ah in the game of Hfe — 
On the altar of "Mammon" the victims lie — 

The victims of fashion — and vice ! 

"Gold !" Get gold, my masters, at any price ; 

Let the red blood flow if need be ; 
Broken hearts, ruined homes, blasted manhood 

Women victims, once fair, you will see; 
Spare neither age nor childhood. 

Neither sex nor innocence heed. 
"Gold !" Raise the slogan to heaven — 

"Gold ! Give us gold — that's our creed !" 



Behind the saloon is a dance hall — 
They oft go together you know, 

And down in "The Pit" of the lost — where we roam- 
It's a part of the nightly show. 

Ring up the curtain, and on with the dance — 
Let the rum and the gin flow free. 

When Venus and Bacchus their arms entwine 
All "The Pit" laughs aloud in its dee I 



26 THB PRODIGAL. 



Lost! Men and women to virtue lost! 

Not a cheek there is tinged with shame; 
In the hall of "The Beast" all are welcome guests 

Who pay the price of the game. 
Let the fiddle screech — let the siren sing — 

Let the stench of lost souls ascend; 
Open wide the door that the voice of "The Pit" 

May ring through the whole "West End"! 

To think that man and his mate could sink 

So deep in the mire and the slime; 
'Tis enough to make God himself curse the day — 

That day in the olden time — 
That day, when, from the dust of the earth, 

He fashioned and gave life to man, 
And seeing this. His crowning work, 

All heaven with praises rang! 

"Glory to God in the highest — Glory !" 

Spread the news from star to star — 
Strike your harps, ye holy angels, 

Let your anthems ring afar : 
"Glory to God in the highest — Glory !" 

Distant worlds joined in the refrain, 
And in honor of man's creation 

The whole universe rang with acclaim! 



THB PRODIGAL. 27 



Ah, me! How the mighty have fallen; 

How the beauty of God's work has been marred! 
How the lofty brow of the man, God-made, 

With sin has been furrowed and scarred! 
How brother has preyed upon brother, 

How the strong have crushed the weak — 
Surely there's sorrow in heaven, 

And some day, in wrath, God will speak! 



Meanwhile, we follow the Prodigal, 

Seeking him night and day. 
In the heart of "The Pit" we follow and seek. 

Amid scenes both tragic and gay; 
Scenes which, where they unfolded, 

Ye surely would skeptical be. 
For none could believe that such scenes exist. 

Unless for themselves they should see! 

It is not until a week has passed 

That the prodigal lad we found ; 
Like a hunted beast, he has found a burrow 

In a cellar beneath the ground. 
Seedy, unwashed and penniless — 

The sight he presents is sad — ^ 
He is proving the truth of the Seer's word, 

That "the way of transgression is hard." 



28 THB PRODIGAL. 



On the day which followed the tragedy, 

A newspaper he had read, 
And therein he was named a murderer. 

With a price upon his head; 
So, into the jungle deep he plunged. 

Not a soul would know him there — 
Who he was, or whence he came, 

None knew, and none did care. 

For all alike are wanted 

For crimes which they have done; 
They prowl around throughout the night, 

And hide when morning has come. 
But the lad we follow is planning 

Farther still away to roam; 
He thinlcs that safety lies over the sea. 

Far away from country and home. 

He needs money, and is waiting now 

To hear from his elder brother, 
For, traveling abroad, he knows not where, 

Are both his father and mother. 
So he has written to his brother 

And, under a name assumed, 
He begged him for some money, 

For his allowance has been consumed. 



THB PRODIGAL. 29 



He confesses to his brother deep repentance 

For the deed which he has done, 
And asks for money to go abroad 

The penalty of that deed to shun. 
It is a pitiful letter, 

And would melt the heart of a stone; 
iBut the answer is, "No; not a penny do you get; 

You should have taken care of your own!" 

Yea, the brother a secret did know ; 

A secret, which, had he but told. 
Would have meant much more to the prodigal boy 

Than a million of his brother's gold. 
But never a word did he utter — ■ 

His letter cut like a knife, 
And the Prodigal faces the world alone 

In the battle to save his life. 

DAN THE SAILOR. 
Amongst the human wreckage is a sailor 

Whose name is "Dan," 
A man who has sailed on every sea 

Since to the sea as a boy he ran; 
He had fought with a mate on shipboard — 

The result he did not know — 
But he knew he had struck, with his horny fist, 

A crushing, sledge-hammer blow. 



30 THE PRODIGAL. 



So he hid himself, like other men 

Who feared the arm of the law ; 
But he hated the life of the hunted, 

And when he the Prodigal saw 
He pitied the lad, and unfolded a plan 

From "The Pit" to escape together — 
To sail on the sea, the great deep sea, 

And be comrades in all sorts of weather. 

It is well for the Prodigal that the sailor Dan 
Is a man both stanch and true, 

A man with iron in his blood, 
And of stalwart caliber, too; 

Fearless of the sea while on shipboard, 
Fearless in the jungle, too; 

The Prodigal needs just such a man 
As a comrade — brave and true. 

The lad had friends in the past, to be sure. 

But none like the sailor "Dan" — 
Sycophants and suckers of blood 

They all were, to a man. 
But Dan of his own blood gives the lad, 

And, I ween, it is true blue; 
Yea, even though his old coat is ragged 

And his hands are horny, too. 



THB PRODIGAL. 31 



At the dock is a ship about ready to sail; 

Taut and trim aloft and alow, 
The "Blue Peter" flies at her masthead, 

She waits but the tide, to let go ; 
She has braved oft before the shriek of the gale 

When the waves, lashed to fury, rolled high, 
Yet calmly she waits the word of command 

Once more her fortune to try. 

To far-off India the ship is bound, 

And she sails at the break of day — 
Clearing the Channel she points her head 

Toward far-famed "Biscay Bay" ; 
The fresh wind fills her glistening sails, 

Great Babylon is left on her lea. 
With canvas spread the gallant craft 

Speeds on toward the great open sea. 



32 THB PRODIGAL, 



PART II. ON SHIPBOARD. 



THE STOWAWAYS. 

Four days and nights have passed, 

And the fifth, as evening draws near, 
A muffled sound from under the liatch 

The mate of the ship can hear; 
He pauses a while, and, Hstening, 

Hears a voice that is faint and low, 
Which, hearing, he rushes to the fo'c's'le 

And shouts an order below. 

All hands turn out, and, following the mate, 

Listen to the sounds below, 
And wondering, clear away the hatch, 

And some into the hold do go ; 
There they find "Dan," the sailor, 

And with him The Prodigal Son. 
The pair had stowed away on the ship 

Ere the ship had her voyage begun. 



THU PRODIGAL. 33 



Dan, the sailor, looks fit enough, 

For hard and horny is he; 
But the prodigal boy is sick unto death — 

It is his first voyage at sea. 
Dan had pitied the prodigal, 

And at last made up his mind 
To try and reach the deck of the ship, 

Help for the lad to find. 

All allowances made, they are a seedy pair 

As they stand before the crew, 
Dan supporting the prodigal 

And watching with keen eyes, too — 
Eyes that are sharp and steellike; 

To a man he measures the crew — ■ 
The mate he salutes in sailor fashion, 

And with sailor dignity, too. 

For Dan was a man-of-war's man — 

The navy was bred in his bone; 
He knows a ship from stem to stern, 

And the great, wide sea is his home; 
"Aloft or alow" Dan is ready to go, 

No matter how fierce the gale; 
He can steer a ship while the storm rages 

Or furl the topmost sail. 

8 



34 THU PRODIGAL. 



The mate of the ship, looking hard at Dan, 

Gruffly asks him to explain 
How he came to be in the hold of the ship, 

And what might be his name? 
Saluting again, Dan tells him 

Of his run of hard luck ashore; 
He tells him his name and begs to be shipped 

As a sailor man once more. 

The Prodigal, he explains, is a friend of his — 

It is his first voyage at sea — 
He is down on his luck, but willing to work, 

And he begs that he may be 
Enrolled as a man ''before the mast," 

Deck hand, or galley slave. 
"Just give us a chance," Dan pleads, 

"And see how well we'll behave." 

The mate is a judge of manhood, 

And he can plainly see 
That Dan is a man, and, if given a chance, 

Will make good on land or on sea. 
On the Prodigal he gazes not unkindly — 

For the mate is a man with a heart ; 
He can see that the lad has hit the rocks, hard, 

For the shock has left many a mark. 



THE PRODIGAL. 35 



So he orders them both to go for'ard, 

And the crew to find them some grub, 
A place to bunk in the fo'c'sle, 

A change of rags and a scrub; 
Then aft he goes to the skipper — 

It is his watch below-^ 
To him the mate unfolds his yarn 

And waits his pleasure to know. 

The skipper — a sturdy Scotchman — ■ 

Weather-beaten and bronzed is he ; 
From cabin boy to commander 

He has followed the path of the sea. 
In silence he hears the story 

Of Dan and the prodigal son, 
Who in the hold of his ship have been found, 

Stowaways from Babylon! 

Approving of what the mate has done, 

Together they go on deck 
To trace the path of the ship 

And another course to set. 
Bounding along o'er the great, wide sea, 

With white wings spread to the breeze, 
The ship speeds on like a thing of life, 

Riding the waves with ease. 



36 THB PRODIGAL. 



But now it is night, night on the deep. 

For the sun has gone to its rest. 
All below, save the Prodigal, are slumbering, 

And dreaming of those they love best; 
All but the Prodigal, for sleepless he 

That night in the fo'c'sle lay — 
His soul in the clutch of a great torment, 

He dreads the coming of day. 

"Lost ! Lost !" he groans, "Everything lost — 

Great God! what a life to live! 
Hopeless, friendless, penniless, 

A hunted fugitive! 
Stained with the blood of a fellow man, 

Bearing the brand of Cain, 
An outlaw with a price on his head, 

And nowhere to hide his shame! 

"Have pity, O God! on mother, 

Have pity on father, too; 
The older brother — God curse him 

And make him the day to rue — 
The day when he spurned his brother's appeal, 

And cast him ofif with a curse — 
The day when he thought less of his brother's life 

Than of the dirty gold in his purse." 



THB PRODIGAL. 37 



Thus tossing and moaning all through the night 

The Prodigal in agony lay, 
Cursing the day which gave him birth, 

And cursing the hard, thorny way — ■ 
The way of transgression — 'tis ever rough, 

And blisters the weary feet ; 
Hard is the bed of the wayward child. 

Ever troubled and broken its sleep! 

He hears the tramp of the watch on deck, 

And the moan of the fresh night wind ; 
In the dark of the fo'c'sle his mind is busy 

With thoughts of the way he has sinned. 
Unheeding the words of the men who knew. 

Headlong he had rushed to his doom, 
And now, when too late, he remembers 

That sin bears its bitter fruit soon! 

He is tempted to cast his life away — 

To fling himself in the sea — 
The tempter arguing that only thus 

From his grief he can be free ; 
But he does a nobler thing by far, 

Though not without fierce strife ; 
In the dark of the fo'c'sle he promises God 

That he will live a nobler life ! 



38 THE PRODIGAL. 



He will strive a better man to be, 

In atonement for that which is past; 
He will toil as a slave in the galley 

Or as a man before the mast. 
The old life is gone forever, 

In the grave of the dead let it lie; 
As far as he can, forgetting the past, 

To keep a clean record he'll try. 

Worn with the night of conflict. 

At last to him comes sleep ; 
With the night wind singing his lullaby 

He is rocked on the mighty deep. 
He dreams now of home and mother, 

He can hear the voice of her song. 
He can feel her arms around him ; 

The years of his guilt are gone! 

Refreshed, he awakes when the morning watch 

Is called to the work of the day. 
The vision of home is still in his mind — 

That home 'mid the hills far away. 
Ah. could his eyes but cleave the distance 

Which separates him from his home, 
A scene of sorrow would greet him — 

Sorrow caused by himself alone! 



THE PRODIGAL. 39 



A mother in agony for the child of her love, 

And refusing to comforted be ; 
His presence alone could assuage her grief — 

His, who is far out at sea ; 
A father distracted, and striving to find 

The lad who has gone astray — 
Far flung is the search, and high is the price 

For tidings he offers to pay! 

Not a word has reached the stricken home, 

Not a word since that fatal night, 
For the elder brother has the secret kept 

Of the letter and his brother's sad plight! 
The silence is crushing and terrible — 

How long they could bear it, God knew, 
And has flung out the lines of Redemption — 

He is seeking the Prodigal, too! 



The crew of the ship with kindness 

Treats both Dan and the lad. 
For, from the skipper downwards. 

Not a man of that crew is bad. 
The skipper was a man particular 

Of the crew he chose for his ship, 
And, having chosen, ruled with a firm hand, 

But used neither oath nor whip. 



40 THE PRODIGAL. 



He had greeted both stowaways gruffly, 

But his words contained no sting: 
"Weel my hearties," said he, "sine ye are here, 

Ye mon jest be of gude cheer — to the land ye can'a 
swim. 
So the mate 'ill jest set ye ta work to pay fer yer duds 
and yer pork ; 

And be ready aye to obey — night or day ; 
Noo gang for'ard, and at night 

Dinna ye forget to pray." 

Thus the stowaways join the crew of the ship 

As she plows her way to the East, 
And after the slime pit of Babylon 

Their life on the ship is a feast; 
Pure air and wholesome feeding, 

With work for their hands to do. 
Wrought mighty changes in Dan and the lad, 

And both more vigorous grew. 

As the days pass the Prodigal, 

Instructed by Dan, became 
Familiar with his work as a sailor, 

For his mind is quick to attain. 
The healthy life of the open sea, 

With the stmg of salt in the wind, 
Erased the writings of Babylon — 

The marks of the days he had sinned. 



THU PRODIGAL. 41 



Far out at sea, with the wind blowing free, 

The ship is making good time; 
The sailors sing the old, old songs of the sea, 

And of deeds subHme ! 
Of the men who had gone to the sea in ships 

To fight for their country and win — 
Win glory and honor to Babylon — 

Great Babylon — the city of sin. 

Singing and toiling, and sailing along. 

The days and the weeks pass by. 
Until one eve ofif the African coast, 

Anger clouds the face of the sky. 
All day long, under terrific heat. 

With sails as limp as a rag, 
The ship with lazy groans has lolled 

And all on board feel bad. 

Not a breath of wind has fanned their cheeks, 

Or wrinkled the face of the sea. 
But now, as night comes on apace, 

A change there appears to be. 
The barometer has fallen fast and low, 

Clouds scud across the sky, 
White'^ans gleam in the setting sun, 

And the ship spreads her wings to fly. 



42 THE PRODIGAL. 



The voice of the mate rings loud and clear 

As he orders all hands on deck ; 
Aloft, at his word, the sailors climb 

To furl the sails that are set. 
Below, the ship is made all snug — 

Everything trim and tight — • 
"Now she is ready," as the sailors say, 

"Ready to swim, or to fight." 

STORM AND SHIPWRECK. 
And now a gust of wind hits the ship, 

From the great Northeast it blew ; 
It lasts but for a moment 

But it warns every man of the crew, 
And each at his post stands ready, 

Both the mates, and the skipper, too, 
Ready and waiting the onslaught 

Of the storm, now almost due! 

The night in its blackness comes over the ship, 

Every star has fled from the sky, 
And again the wind soughs out of the North 

And again it passes them' by; 
Hushed now is every voice of the night, 

Now the rain in torrents came, 
Now another fierce blast, another lull, 

Tricky moves in a blood-stirring game! 



THB PRODIGAL. 43 



A game, with life in the hazard, 

A game with death ahnost sure, 
Yet, when told in the ears of a landsman. 

The story as fiction seems pure! 
To grapple with death in the darkness, 

Death from the wind and the sea, 
That's in the day's work ai a sailor, 

Wherever his ship may be. 

And now the wind drives down 

In fiercer, louder blasts. 
And the startled ship, as a thing of life, 

Is vexed from keel to masts. 
Like a racer of blood that feels the spur. 

She rushes on before the gale. 
Groaning in every timber. 

Dipping under both yard and rail. 

Anon the gusts have merged 

Into a mighty, incessant roar. 
And the god of the wind in his fury lashes 

The sea from shore to shore. 
High roll the waves, and the staggering ship, 

Shivering, and groaning in pain, 
Is lifted to heaven on their mighty crests 

And flung down into the depths again. 



44 THE PRODIGAL. 



Hour after hour the storm rages, 

Louder and fiercer the blast ; 
The good ship, fighting for life and limb, 

Is close to her death at last. 
Oft has she battled with wind and sea, 

And ever has victory been won, 
But now she is fighting her last great fight, 

For her days on the sea are done ! 

Yet, there is no thought of surrender. 

She fights every inch of the way, 
Though the wind and the sea in fury rage. 

Seeking her death ere break of day. 
The waves,, rolling high in their madness, 

Again and again sweep her deck, 
But fighting still the ship plunges on 

Though now she is but a wreck. 

Gone are her masts and deck house, 

Gone the bridge and all of her gear, 
But the sailors to a man still cling to life, 

"Hearts of oak," each other do cheer; 
Not a coward heart among them. 

For the Prodigal, too, is a man, 
Tested and tried by the storm god, 

He has fought, and fought in the van. 



THE PRODIGAL. 45 



Suddenly a cheer rings along the deck 

As the sailors note in the sky 
A shaft of light split the darkness, 

A token that day is nigh. 
And, as if fearing the daylight, 

The wind begins to abate, 
But the sea nins high and the wounded ship 

Still struggles against her fate. 

When daylight comes the skipper knows 

That the ship which he loves is a wreck, 
And he weeps, with the tears of manhood, 

As he stands on her storm-swept deck. 
Faithfully the ship has served him. 

Proudly she has cleaved the waves, 
Now, far from land, she is dying, 

With the great, wide sea as her grave. 

The "well" of the ship has been sounded, 

The sea is rushing in fast, 
And the day upon which they have entered 

Will prove to be the ship's last; 
But they cling to her still, and, clinging, 

Pray that the sea may go down 
Ere necessity drives them to man the boats 

To escape, or, perhaps, to drown! 



46 THB PRODIGAL. 



The day passes, and, toward evening, 

The boats are launched on the deep; 
For they fear to spend the night on the ship 

Lest she carry them to death in their sleep. 
The wind has abated, the sea has calmed, 

The ship in the water is low, 
So the order is given to "man the boats," 

And not too soon, I ween, do they go. 

For, not long from the ship have they parted 

When they see that she lifts her head, 
And, bravely saluting her comrades, 

Sinks down to her rest 'mid the dead; 
The sea and the wind, victorious. 

And weary with the victory won, 
Hush themselves to rest in the darkness; 

And with the morning comes forth the sun. 

In the boat which carries the Prodigal 

Is also the sailor, Dan ; 
Clinging together in all sorts of weather 

They are faithful, man to man. 
'Tis the storm that tries the mettle 

Of manhood, and of friendship, too. 
And happy is he whose friends by the storm 

Have been proved to be good and true. 



THB PRODIGAL, 47 



In the darkness the boats are parted. 

And, with the coming of hght. 
Not a trace of them is upon the sea, 

Not a Hving thing in sight! 
Thus the days and nights did pass 

Until they numbered ten, 
And no tongue can tell of the suffering 

Which befell those shipwrecked men. 

Seven have been together 

In the boat, and, one by one. 
Have died of thirst and madness, 

Save Dan and the Prodigal son ; 
And they, but wrecks of manhood, 

With hope of rescue none, 
Are lying in the boat together 

'Neath the blistering rays of the sun. 

THE RESCUE. 
On the tenth day a steamship. 

Plowing her way through the deep. 
Homeward bound from the Indies, 

She straight on her course does keep; 
On her bridge an officer, pacing. 

Pauses, and, with glass to his eye, 
Looks long and hard across the sea 

And the boat on its bosom does spy. 



48 THB PRODIGAL. 



The word is passed, the course is changed, 

And soon the hoarse, siren voice blows 
A ringing blast, which, hearing, 

Dan opens his eyes and knows, 
Knows that God, in great pity. 

Has sent deliverance to them, 
And raising himself he a signal waves. 

Which signal is seen by the men. 

The men on the ship are watching, 

And the word is given to lower 
A boat in the sea, and, with willing hearts, 

Men bend their backs to the oar; 
Strong hands are laid on the drifting boat, 

Strong men with compassion weep; 
They are men of the sea and can read the signs 

Both in Dan and the lad who sleeps. 

Tenderly both are lifted to the boat. 

And from the boat to the steamer's deck. 
Perhaps the only survivors of that 

Awful storm and wreck. 
They have fallen amongst good Samaritans, 

Rough, but exceedingly kind. 
And within a week are on their feet, 

All well, save the Prodigal's mind. 



THB PRODIGAL. 49 



His mind with the past is tortured, 

But the past no man can undo. 
"A murderer, with a price on his head ; 

That," he groaned, "is still true." 
The future looks black before him, 

But, let it unfold what it will, 
The life of the past is ended; 

On that he is resolved still. 

The ship on which they now sail 

Is American, and bound for home; 
New York is the port she hails from 

And all, save themselves alone, 
Hail from the Western Empire, 

The land of the brave and the free. 
The land whose star-spangled banner 

Floats proudly on every sea. 

NEW YORK. 

In due time, and without adventure, 

The ship crosses the harbor bar. 
The crew are discharged and they scatter 

To their homes both near and far, 
Dan and the Prodigal wander 

Through the city, viewing the sights, 
Getting food where they can, by day. 

And sleeping out at nights. 
4 



50 THE PRODIGAL. 



One day the Prodigal is startled 

By seeing his name written large 
On a placard issued by Babylon's police 

And signed, "Inspector in charge!'' 

— PLACARD — 

"To all whom it may concern: 

"$5,000 Reward. 

"The above reward will be paid for any information which 

will lead to the finding of the Prodigal son." 

Then followed a general description of his person, 
and the statement that the Prodigal was believed to be 
in America. 

It was well that Dan could not see just then 

The face of the Prodigal son, 
For the sailor was somewhat suspicious 

That the lad a bad deed had done. 
But he had never asked any questions, 

And his heart was drawn to his mate; 
He had done what he could to befriend him, 

And not a word of thanks would he take ! 

The Prodigal knew that he owed his life 

To the big heart of his chum, 
In those days when they drifted on the sea 

'Neath the blistering rays of the sun, 



THE PRODIGAL. 51 



For Dan of his rations had freely given 

To save the life of his mate; 
Hungry himself, and thirsty, 

He neither food nor water would take! 

He was waiting for Dan, who was seeking work, 

When the placard met his eye, 
And the very first thought that came to his mind 

Was to hide his face and fly; 
But, reading again the description given, 

He remembers his life at sea. 
And thinks that not even his mother 

Would recognize her son in he! 

As for his name, why, no one knew it ; 

Not even Dan could guess ; 
So, let it go, it's all in the show, 

What's a name more or less! 
The old name is dead, and so is the man; 

That reward will go begging, I fear ; 
A penniless stranger, unknown and homeless, 

Who cares for the Prodigal here? 

Thus thinking, he turns his back 

Upon the placard and upon his past ; 
He has learned, at sea, rich lessons, 

For experience teaches fast; 



52 THE PRODIGAL. 



Bitter, indeed, is the school, and dear, 
But the money is oft well spent, 

For the man who heeds grows stalwart 
But the heedless are broken and bent! 

He has laid to heart the lesson. 

The lesson of the past. 
He is done with Babylon's mode of life. 

The life that is known as "fast." 
Whatever the future holds for him. 

Whether storm, or cloud, or sun, 
He will face it like a man and fight, 

Fight for manhood till he won! 

Hard, still, is the path of his wandering, 

Blistered and sore are his feet. 
As, searching for some honest toil, 

He travels from street to street; 
But not a word of encouragement, 

Nor a hope of better things; 
He is feeling the poor man's burden — 

Poverty — with its soul-killing stings! 

A penniless wanderer, far from home, 

Hungry and weary and sad. 
While in his father's house is enough, 

And a welcome that would make him glad. 



THB PRODIGAL. 53 



The father's heart is yearning 

For the home-coming of his boy, 
And nothing else in God's great world 

Could bring his mother joy. 

And even the elder brother, 

Eye-witness of his parents' grief, 
Bitterly curses himself for refusing 

To send his brother relief; 
Curses himself for hiding that, 

Which, had the Prodigal known. 
He need not have left great Babylon 

Far over the sea' to roam 1 

The elder brother is doing 

All that he can to atone, 
Causing search to be made in every land 

For the lad far away from home ! 
But not a word has reached him, 

Since the letter requesting relief. 
And the stricken home has touched his heart, 

And filled him with bitter grief. 



But we follow, once more, the Prodigal, 

And, following him, we find 
A soul discouraged and weary, 

A man with a sore, troubled mind. 



54 THE PRODIGAL. 



He has sought for work, and, seeking, has failed, 

And crushed to the very heart 
He is sitting now and watching 

Passers-by in a New York park. 

He is alone, for Dan is seeking 

A berth for them both to find 
On board some vessel outward bound, 

To where, they didn't mind ! 
It is the last card, for neither cares 

The sea again to try, 
But it seems to be that or nothing, 

And they must eat or they will die. 

While sitting there, the Prodigal muses 

On the tangled skein of life ; 
What a mystery it all is, anyhow, 

With its grief, hard luck and strife! 
Surely, a curse on men was laid 

By the gods, both great and small, 
For he is tossed like a feather by the wind 

And kicked like a college ball! 

"Ye gods !" he muses, "what a game to play — 

A game with the cards all stacked ; 
And the man who kicks against the deal 

Is gripped by a strong hand and whacked ! 



THB PRODIGAL. 55 



You must sit in the game, take the cards that are dealt, 
Though you know the game is not straight, 

And when you have lost, and the game is done. 
You are thrown to perdition — such is fatel" 

A BRAVE DEED. 
But, heavens ! What is this tearing through the park, 

Hurling men both to right and to left! 
A carriage with its blooded horses gone mad, 

Rushing straight for that awful cleft, 
That cleft which leads to death on the rocks — 

Ah! great God, have pity on that helpless child! 
For the driver has jumped and a young girl 

Is clinging in terror and screaming wild! 

On, on, like an avalanche the horses come. 
With nothing but himself between them and that 
cruel death, 
Death for that girl! Great God, have mercy! 

And crouching low he draws a mighty breath, 
Then he springs, a messenger of God to save the 
helpless. 
He springs, and clutching tight the reins, holds on. 
Holds on, though dragged, holds on, though bruised 
and bleeding, 
Holds on till all his strength and vision, too, are 
gone! 



S6 THE PRODIGAL. 



Yes! She is saved, the wild brutes are halted 

Close to the edge of that cruel death; 
But he who is her savior on the ground is lying — 

Dead — save only that he still has breath 1 
Ah! would that he might hear those words of praise 

Which men do speak of him as thus he lay; 
But, no ; not even Dan, who at his side is kneeling, 

Can make him hear his faithful voice to-day. 

And she, for whose life his own has ventured, 

She for whose sake he bleeding lay. 
With water now she laves his bruised temples, 

And kneeling to her God does pray ! 
But, who is this, whose face with grief and pain 

Is stamped, with agony too great to bear! 
He comes' in haste, and him the crowd beholding, 

Make way as if in pity, or as if his wrath they fear! 

He passes to where the wounded Prodigal 

Lies bleeding on the ground as if in death ; 
With one quick glance the scene he comprehends, 

Then stands with wondering eyes and gasping breath, 
For there upon the ground is kneeling. 

The daughter who he heard was dead; 
He weeps with joy, and praises the God of heaven, 

And, kneeling, kisses the Prodigal's wounded head. 



THU PRODIGAL. 57 



He had heard the worst, and, from his office rushing, 

He came and found his daughter safe! 
Safe! But on the ground is lying 

Her savior, some poor, wandering waif; 
A waif! But if deeds prove knighthood. 

Then he, too, is a knight, 
For none save he alone did venture 

To grapple with wild death, and win the fight! 

DELIRIUM. 
The waif, with loving care, is borne 

To the home of her whom he has saved, 
And there for many a day and night 

In mad delirium sore he raves. 
It is Dan who holds and watches him, 

For he has followed with his mate; 
But the girl whom he saved, like a ministering angel, 

Watches o'er his pillow, and, watching, finds her fate. 

In his fever he raves of Babylon, 

And the bloody deed he has done; 
He raves of the sea, and the hold of the ship, 

Of the storm and the blistering sun; 
He is back once more in the Pit of the lost, 

'Mid the lust, the stench and the slime, 
And anon 'twas the heather hills of home 

And the happy, boyhood time! 



58 THB PRODIGAL, 



To it all the girl has listened, 

Her face with horror white, 
Yet her heart is filled with pity 

For the young man's terrible plight. 
But there came a day, when, raving still, 

He mentioned his rightful name. 
And a great suspicion arose in her mind; 

She wondered if it could be the same! 

SUSPICION. 
For she had read in the newspaper 

The offer of large reward, 
And had also seen the name he mentioned 

On the Babylon poHce placard! 
"Could it be possible," she wondered, 

"That this is the Prodigal son 
Who is wanted over in Babylon 

For some deed that he has done?" 

While musing on this matter 

Her mind evolves a plan 
Which would answer every question 

Without endangering the helpless man. 
So she cables across to Babylon, 

To the chief of Babylon's police, 
A message which is carefully worded, 

But even then she does not cease. 



THB PRODIGAL. . 59 



For she draws from Dan the story 

Of the Prodigal, as far as he knew ; 
From the Pit of the lost to the hold of the ship. 

And then to joining the crew; 
Of Hfe on the ship, the terrible storm. 

The wreck, and the blistering sun; 
Of their awful life in the drifting boat, 

Their rescue, and Dan's story is done. 

Of their life in New York Dan said nothing. 

But the Prodigal all secrets had told, 
For he raved of the weary search for work, 

Of their hunger, and nights in the coldl 
Thus she is made familiar 

With his life, from the Pit to the time 
When he had saved her life in the park 

By a deed of daring, sublime! 

GOOD NEWS. 
At last from Babylon a message comes. 

And it thrills her heart with joy, 
For it is not the police, but the father 

Who oflfers reward for his boy! 
"The police are helping the father 

In a world-wide search for his son; 
No charge is hanging over his head 

For anything he has done!" 



6o THB PRODIGAL. 



"The man he had shot is living, 

The bullet had done little harm; 
The papers were wrong in what they had said, 

It was another false alarm! 
The man had been stunned, but the doctor who came 

Soon after the Prodigal had fled. 
Had him up on his feet again 

After but a few days in bed! 

"No effort has been made to prosecute, 

No warrant is out for arrest, 
The Prodigal can come or go as he pleases, 

But to come home, he thinks, will be best; 
For the father and mother are utterly crushed. 

Mourning for their absent boy, 
And if she knows where to find him 

She can turn their sorrow to joy!" 

This, in substance, is the message, 

She receives from Babylon's chief, 
And she cables at once to the mother 

A message which stays her grief; 
Then, seeking, she finds her father. 

And tells him what she has done, 
And that now the way is open 

For the return of the Prodigal Son! 



THE PRODIGAL. 6i 



EXPLANATIONS. 

The father is pleased that the waif upstairs 

Is the son of a man whom he knew, 
A man of wealth and plenty, 

And a man of high family, too; 
Himself is the master of millions, 

The daughter is his only child, 
And had she been killed in that runaway, 

God knows 'twould have driven him wild. 

Proud of his daughter, proud of his name. 

And proud of his millions, too. 
He is always ready to humor 

Her in what she wants to do. 
So she plans to surprise the Prodigal, 

A surprise that will make him glad; 
And her father agrees to invite to his home 

The parents of the prodigal lad! 

Meanwhile, upstairs, the Prodigal 

His mind quite rational now. 
Looks, in great amazement. 

When she enters his room with a bow, 
And, kneeling down by his bedside. 

She lays her hand on his head. 
Which, though still broken and bandaged, 

Is cool, for the fever has fled. 



62 THB PRODIGAL. 



Little by little the story is told 

Of the brave deed he has done; 
Of his coming to the home of her father, 

And the great esteem he has won; 
Now he must quickly forget the past, 

And try his best to get well. 
For she has something very hnportant — 

Good news — she wishes to tell. 

A HAPPY REUNION. 
Gradually he grasps what is told him: 

That his father will soon be here, 
And he groans in spirit and is troubled; 

Nor can he keep back the tear. 
His father! Then he knows where he is. 

Do Babylon's police know, too? 
If so, then God have mercy, 

For he knows not what to do. 

She sees that his spirit is troubled, 

And quickly she gives relief, 
Unfolding to him the blessed news 

Which banishes all his grief. 
What a fool he had been for running away, 

But, no ! Could it have been God's plan, 
God's plan to save a human wreck 

And build from the ruins a man! 



THE PRODIGAL. 63 



The father comes and the mother. 

And also the elder son; 
The latter, in deep repentance, confesses 

And is forgiven for what he has done; 
He might have saved the Prodigal 

Those weary, wandering days, 
For he knew that the lad was no murderer, 

Although he had been wild in his ways 

It is a happy reunion, 

The past is forever done, 
The future lies before them, 

And in the sky is the summer sun. 
The father and the daughter 

Press the Prodigal to abide, 
While the others, after a lengthy stay, 

Cross back to the other side. 

Dan, faithful Dan, will not be parted 

From the only mate that he has ; 
Faithful still, he remains behind 

To care for the Prodigal lad ; 
Nor is he ever weary of telling 

The story of those terrible days: 
The days of storm and shipwreck, 

Of the sea and its cruel ways. 



64 THB PRODIGAL. 



WEDDING BELLS. 

Pass we over in silence 

Some years of the Prodigal's life; 
Then she whom he saved from an awful death 

At the altar becomes his wife. 
He has proved his mettle, and has won his bride, 

He has fully atoned for the past, 
And, happy 'mid the sound of wedding bells, 

We leave the Prodigal at last! 

FINIS. 



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